Benefits of a classical education
by Lady Angel
Summary: Slash. This is a quiet evening with a pair of academics. Lots of quoting. MarcusHenry slash, you are warned.


  
Title: Benefits of a classical education  
Author: Angel  
Fandom: Indiana Jones  
Pairing: Marcus Brody/Henry Jones Sr.  
Rating: PG  
Summary: A quiet evening at home. The Slashwriters list May challenge "Talk  
dirty to me."  
Archive: yes to lists. Private archives ask first.  
Email: valarltd@hotmail.com  
Web Page: http://www.geocities.com/lady_aethelynde  
Disclaimer: Characters are property of Lucasfilm, naturally. If they were   
mine, i'd let them have a lot more fun, in much safer ways. Money? You're   
joking, right? All quoted material is public domain.  
Warnings: Poetry. Shakespearean poetry. You are warned.  
  
*****  
Benefits of a classical education  
2001 Angelia Sparrow  
*****  
  
  
  
Marcus paused on the veranda of the white house. He wasn't sure what   
to expect. A man who had accomplished his life's dream, then lost it, was   
on the other side of the door, and he had no idea in what state he would find   
Henry. He knocked.  
  
"Marcus, come in, come in."   
  
The house was neat, a pleasant change from the last time he'd seen it, and   
something smelled wonderful. Henry's new housekeeper was obviously a good   
cook as well. Marcus followed his friend into the living room, creasing   
his hat nervously. The room was tidy, except for the usual clutter on the   
desk. Everything was exactly as it had been all the other times he had visited.  
  
The utter normalcy of it all soothed him. "So, Henry, ready for the start   
of the fall term? Our unauthorized sabbatical created quite a stir, you know."   
  
"So I heard. Drink?"   
  
"Bourbon, please."   
  
"Junior leads an exciting life, but it's not one I would want to tackle at   
my age."   
  
"For such a man   
Helen left her husband,   
Giving no thought to her children   
To follow the Cyprean's laughter," Marcus toasted.   
  
"I'd forgotten how freely you translate Sappho."   
  
"The students forget it's translation. I've had them quote me on tests   
rather than the author. So few read Latin and Greek these days."   
  
"More's the pity. Mine are refusing to learn Old English, saying Beowulf   
has no relevance. The classics are the first to go when war is looming."   
  
"Do you really expect another war, Henry?"   
  
"After Donovan, you have to ask? There will be war, war enough to glut a   
generation and keep the ravens fed for decades."   
  
"I expect we'll stay out."   
  
"For a time." Henry poured them both another bourbon. "Only for a time."  
This time he raised his glass and recited from the Havamal of Odin.  
"Young and alone on a long road, once I lost my way: rich I felt when   
I found another; Man rejoices in man." He set the glass on the table.  
"Lilah just left. Dinner was waiting. I'll get down an extra plate and you  
can join me. She always makes too much."  
  
The dining room table was laid for one, and dinner was set out. Henry  
opened the china closet and took out a second place setting. Marcus  
looked at the light summer supper of cold chicken salad and fresh vegetables  
with a slightly amused expression.   
  
"Henry, I'm a vegetarian."  
  
"So eat the rabbit food she always makes." He pushed a large bowl of salad  
at Marcus. "Lilah has progressive notions about nutrition and vitamins."  
  
They talked of inconsequential things through the meal: the fall schedule,  
the lowered enrollment, the rising number of coeds in the classes, Dr. Wickersham's  
new toupee.  
  
"Vain old fool," commented Henry rubbing at his own bald pate. "If we're done,  
the living room chairs are far more comfortable."  
  
They stored the remnants of the meal in the icebox, Henry checking the state  
of the block before he closed it. The living room chairs were quite comfortable,  
and they both had another bourbon.  
  
"So, Junior tells me you got lost in your own museum."  
  
"He did? I swore him to utmost secrecy about that. Rather embarassing, really.  
I was so busy cataloguing specimans that I failed to notice where I was moving.  
I ended up in a brand new display that my assistant had created, and  
had no idea where it was. Of course, the thing to do when you're lost  
is sit tight and wait for someone to find you. Indiana did."  
  
Henry laughed. "Marcus, Marcus. Yet you acquitted yourself well  
on our expedition."  
  
"You're doing what he does. Minimizing the peril until it sounds as though  
you flew to Cairo, picked up the item in a shop and returned unscathed.  
You nearly died!" Marcus protested.  
  
"Several times," Henry agreed, pouring another drink for both of them.  
"But who would believe I was kidnapped by Nazis, rescued ineptly by my son,  
traveled to a legendary spot and saw a man born in the Middle Ages?"  
  
"When you put it that way..."  
  
"I have no plans to do it again, but if I did, I couldn't think of better  
company. Woman is a mystery. If God wanted a helper for man, he should   
have made another man for strength. If he wanted a friend, he should have  
made a man for comfort."  
  
"Augustine, if I'm not mistaken. Henry, old friend," Marcus was feeling   
the bourbon, "are you all right? You achieved your life's goal. Men do   
that and die."  
  
Henry stared at the laid fire that he hadn't lit on this July evening.  
Marcus had put his emptiness, the sense of being at a loose end, into  
words. The ceiling fan creaked lazily, stirring the sluggish   
midwestern air, and he said nothing for a time.  
  
Then, his customary bravado, which had terrified a generation  
of undergraduates returned. "Die? Dear man, I have no intention   
of dying. The paperwork alone prevents it. Junior and I are   
collaborating on a monograph about the Grail, as well as a report   
on the Nazi preoccupation with religious artifacts as a source of   
military power. And," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I'm   
serializing our little quest under a pseudonym for one of those pulp   
magazines. Quarter-cent a word, ten installments guaranteed."   
  
Marcus nearly dropped his coffee. "Pulp writing? Henry!"   
  
"Highly fictionalized, of course. And with more danger and daring-do than   
we really put into it."   
  
"It was quite dangerous enough for my tastes." He finished his coffee with   
a disapproving air. "Knocked silly in a Venice museum. Stranded in Egypt,   
kidnapped by Nazis, dragged across the desert to a legendary cathedral and   
being an on-looker to some very horrible deaths. One of which was almost   
yours." Marcus paused to dredge the fragment from his memory:  
"The painful warrior famoused for fight,   
After a thousand victories once foiled,   
Is from the book of honour razed quite,   
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled: "   
  
"Then happy I that love and am beloved   
Where I may not remove nor be removed," Henry finished the   
sonnet. "Shakespeare, sonnet 25. Are you sure that's something   
you wanted to say at this late date? We aren't schoolboys   
anymore, you know."   
  
"Why not say it? You climbed into a Nazi tank for me, with the Nazis still   
in it, no less. Why shouldn't I love such a shoulder-companion, a comrade?"   
  
"The times are effete, and to speak of love is a woman's part. But no, I   
must agree. I have been agreeing all evening, haven't I?"   
  
"Indeed." Marcus set the empty cup aside and moved to safer  
subjects. "Have you galleys for the next issue of your pulp? May I see them?"   
  
Henry dug in the desk and laid a few sheets of foolscap on the coffee   
table. He sat on the sofa beside Marcus, and offered another   
bourbon. Marcus, not thinking, took it.   
  
"Oh, Henry! Martin Brown? And attacked by giant scorpions?" Marcus took   
too large a gulp to stop gasping from his laughter. "You really did make   
it highly fictionalized."   
  
"We had rats in Rome, so I opted for scorpions in the desert. The readers   
are eating it up. This part has to go out next week."   
  
"Exciting Stories," Marcus read from the letterhead. "I shall have to   
purchase a copy. Perhaps two, and send one to Sallah." His bourbon was   
empty, and he was very aware of exactly how small the couch was. Carpe   
diem ringing in his ears, he recklessly said,   
"A man in hue all hues in his controlling,   
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.   
And for a woman wert thou first created,   
Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting,   
And by addition me of thee defeated,   
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.   
But since she pricked thee out for women's pleasure,   
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure."   
  
Somehow, neither of them was every quite sure later who had   
started it, they were kissing. It wasn't a freneticly erotic   
invasion, or a quiet submission, as with a woman. It was a steady,  
affectionate kiss, one that both men knew had been handed down from   
Achilles and Patrocles to Lancelot and Arthur and passed along   
in the heritage of comrades and brothers in arms from time immemorial.  
  
A solid kiss, one that they could live with for the rest of their lives,  
or one whose memory could last that lifetime, with no rancor.  
  
Marcus' breathing became heavy, and Henry let him up for air, only to   
find he had fallen asleep.  
  
Henry scooted his friend into a more comfortable position, spread the   
afghan from the sofa over him, and stood to go to bed himself. He   
stooped back down and brushed a light kiss over Marcus's forehead.   
  
"That he would kiss me...love better than wine," mumbled the curator,   
still asleep.   
  
"Solomon, mangled by bourbon. Sleep well, old friend."  
  
Henry Jones turned out the lamp and went upstairs to bed.   



End file.
